


A Pair of Hopeless Leads

by aurics



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deception, M/M, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-07 22:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10371531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: Nothing spices up a threadbare marriage more than being assigned to kill your husband. A Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the movie - you can probably consider this a parody. Also inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/jeonghan_trash/status/834379761971388416) beautiful fanart by twt user @jeonghan_trash that made me think about spies/assassin AUs a lot...
> 
> Thank you to my precious [maeumso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maeumso) for being the most supportive beta + cheerleader ♥

Seungcheol is perceptive — and that, in Jeonghan’s opinion, makes everything harder.  
  
This is what Jeonghan tells their new marriage counsellor; their fourth one this year because their last apparently ‘found it difficult to follow their train of thoughts’ — or, in less polite terms, he thought they were complete nut jobs and no amount of money would make him stay. So far the new one isn’t chalking up to be a more promising substitute with the way he stares blankly past Jeonghan’s tirade of complaints, as if he can’t for the love of all good things figure out why being outrageously observant is a negative trait.  
  
“Perhaps it is a skill perceived to be valuable in his line of work,” says the counsellor unhelpfully. “But on another note, how is your sex life?"  
  
Jeonghan ends up walking out of the room in more doubt and annoyance than when he first walked in. At least the gloomy clouds that seem to hang over Seungcheol’s hunched form in the waiting room chair tells him his husband is in a similar state of distress, if that counts as consolation.  
  
“No good?” Seungcheol asks, though his question is rendered useless by the obvious stiffness in Jeonghan’s shoulders, the way he’s tucking his hair back in vexation and the forceful gait of his steps.

“No, and I think it’s about time we stop trying.”  
  
Jeonghan only means _this_ , the whole counselling business, but it seems like Seungcheol is talking about something much more encompassing than that when he sighs and says, “Yeah. Waste of both of our times, really."  
  
The car ride home is silent, but that is nothing new. And not for the first time, Jeonghan wonders if his double life is finally putting a strain on his relationship.

 

*

   
  
_Four years ago._

 

Jeonghan found that there wasn’t much to do once the Portuguese party music had died down to mellow ballad songs meant for slow-dancing, not when he was the only Korean in a small hotel by a strip of Recifian beach with no significant other to speak of.

And he usually didn’t mind this arrangement in the least — in fact he much preferred acting as a lone wolf on overseas assassination missions that involved foreign intel, because it eliminated the possibility of having his teammates in severely incriminating situations that could jeopardise the entire intelligence agency. Sadly, the euphoria of landing a bloody twenty thousand dollar bonus for single-handedly taking care of an illicit drug network had declined rapidly in the face of isolation. On a normal day he’d be thankful for the solitude and the slice of reprieve he could salvage; tonight, for some reason, he seemed to grow more agitated with every sip of his martini.

Someone slid into the seat next to him on the bar and ordered a drink in smooth, perfect Portuguese. A quick glance to his right revealed a lean but sturdily built man. The line of his shoulder curved beautifully, looking wide and strong even under the bomber jacket carelessly thrown over his figure. The short sleeves of his tight, black shirt accentuated his biceps, but Jeonghan found himself fixated on the man’s black hair that was messily brushed back and the two piercings on his left ear — the sort Jeonghan appreciated more than he should. The guy looked like living sex on legs, but what was the point in hooking up if they couldn’t get past saying hello? So Jeonghan quickly settled back to nursing his drink, wondering how many more glasses it would take to numb his restlessness.  
  
The next song they played was almost identical to the last one — slow, romantic, and definitely not something Jeonghan wanted to suffer through again. He was about to get up to leave when he heard a greeting in Korean.

“Hey.”  
  
In his surprise Jeonghan almost spat the drink he sipped back out again. He ended up choking a little, after which his new company winced and patted him lightly on the back. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you."  
  
“How did you know I was Korean?” asked a perplexed Jeonghan once he’d recovered enough to find his voice.  
  
He pointed at Jeonghan’s phone on the countertop with the hand holding his beverage in one smooth movement. “Your phone lit up and the date was in Korean.” And, as if to justify this, “Wasn’t prying, a message just came in, was all."  
  
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, unable to hide how pleasantly surprised he was (thankfully, the device was his _‘everyday’_ phone and thus harmless enough).  “Perceptive,” he smiled, slow and invitingly enough that the man leaned forward in his seat. “Sorry about the reaction. I just didn’t expect to see another Korean here, and you didn’t seem like a viable candidate."  
  
“Why? Don’t I look it?"  
  
“I’ve learnt not to make judgements based on appearances, but your Portuguese can easily pass as native,” laughed Jeonghan. “And let’s just say this lovely corner of Recife isn’t the most popular tourist destination."  
  
“There are no less than twenty beaches in Recife more beautiful than this one, so trust me — if I wasn’t on business I wouldn’t be here.”  
  
“Interesting. So what do you do?"  
  
When the man laughed his eyes crinkled attractively. “Let’s start with names, shall we?” He said not unkindly and reached out a hand. "Choi Seungcheol."

He considered lying — it was much safer that way, of course — but there was something about the genuinely curious glint in Seungcheol’s eyes that made him look as vulnerable as an open book, and like an incantation it beguiled Jeonghan into telling the truth. “Yoon Jeonghan."  
  
“Jeonghan,” he tried it for fit on his tongue, before asking, "Can I get you a drink?”  
  
Seungcheol gestured at Jeonghan’s glass that he himself didn’t realise was already empty after taking minute sips during their conversation. It was exhilarating, and a little hot to know he commanded Seungcheol’s avid attention, so Jeonghan didn’t think twice before nodding. He was already hooked.

It would have been easier to lust over Seungcheol for his pretty face because pretty faces are forgettable; without anything else to attach to them, they fade into the background as simply another one of a million. But it proved to be impossible when he latched on to Seungcheol’s unreserved laughter, the way he leaned his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder after a particularly funny joke, the way these clumsy actions juxtaposed his sophisticated manner; and most of all, the way he looked at Jeonghan like he'd never seen anything so stunning. The temptation was wrapped in an enticing package and Jeonghan fell for it, hard and fast.  
  
Perhaps that was the reason why morning didn’t arrive with the same impatience to get dressed and slip out of the room as quickly as possible like it usually did. Instead, Jeonghan found himself resting his head on Seungcheol’s outstretched arm and admiring the curve of his long lashes, his full lips parted in sleep and the twinkle of his piercings in the morning light. Jeonghan lifted a hand to trace the smooth skin of his neck, marred with hints of love bites he left the night before and watched in drowsy amusement the jut of his collarbone rising and falling with the steady intake of breath. Before he knew it, he spent both of his last nights at Recife in the warmth of Seungcheol’s bed.  
  
They exchanged numbers, e-mails and usernames on any social media network appropriate for disclosure after a three-night stand before heading back to Korea, despite every constituent of Jeonghan’s brain screaming in protest. It went against his principles, this act of attaching himself to someone and allowing that someone to latch on to him. But when Seungcheol grinned as he pocketed his phone and leaned in to softly kiss his cheek, Jeonghan was hypnotised into thinking that there couldn’t be anything more right than this.  
  
It started off with casual coffee shop dates, in the city centre near Seungcheol’s brokerage firm and Jeonghan’s headquarters, under the guise of a multinational marketing agency. Though they were both clearly well-off their dates were rarely ostentatious as Jeonghan discovered that Seungcheol was a man with an appreciation for mundane sentimentality. And it was this mundanity, this easygoing atmosphere Seungcheol injected into Jeonghan’s life that made him relinquish his guards so willingly and he felt himself falling in love quicker than anticipated, despite the prospect being impossible merely several months ago.

  
One year later Seungcheol proposed to him, right in the middle of their now shared living room, and Jeonghan couldn’t think of any reason not to say yes.

 

 

*

 

_Present Day._

 

Jeonghan has a habit of getting dressed before breakfast. During their first few weeks of dating, Seungcheol often chided him for it, saying he’d only mess up his already impeccable appearance, but with an occupation that keeps him on his toes all the time a morning meal is far more agreeable to forgo in events of an emergency mission call than being decently clothed. He saves his work attire from smelling greasy by strictly snacking on fruits and pastries only; scrambled eggs, kimchi, and bacon are reserved for weekends and lazy days.

  
This morning is no different. Sat at his end of their dining table, Jeonghan is placidly munching on bite-sized kiwi cubes when Seungcheol stumbles into the living room in his grey dress shirt and a pair of black slacks far too tight around his thighs, towards which Jeonghan can’t help his gaze from gravitating. He’s still got his tie undone around his neck, and a year, or even six months ago Jeonghan wouldn’t have hesitated to fix it for him, maybe reel his husband in for a couple of morning kisses that are kept innocent only if time is a constraining factor.  
  
But Jeonghan hasn’t done anything like that for the past few months, is beginning to find such aimless displays of affection embarrassing, so he refocuses his attention on the bowl of fruit in front of him instead.  
  
Before long Seungcheol approaches the counter where Jeonghan is sitting. “I’m leaving for the airport,” he says as he adjusts his cufflinks.  
  
“Now?” Jeonghan frowns, looking at the clock. “It’s only eight-thirty. I thought your flight was at noon?"  
  
“Just in case,” is all the justification Seungcheol gives, and Jeonghan can’t help but feel like Seungcheol is keeping back more than he normally would. "See you later."  
  
Seungcheol hesitates, hovering around Jeonghan’s right side and Jeonghan’s heart beats quicker, unsure of whether he should turn his head and return Seungcheol’s look or not. It seems that Seungcheol deems it safe enough to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, and does so with a quiet smack. The sigh of relief Jeonghan tries to inconspicuously let out, however, does not escape Seungcheol and is immediately misconstrued.  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I can’t even _kiss your cheek_ without somehow offending you now?"  
  
It takes all of Jeonghan’s willpower not to throw the fork in his hand and let it land clean somewhere near Seungcheol’s head. “If you would just _stop_ — jumping to conclusions, and see with your own eyes —"  
  
“This is why I shouldn’t try,” mutters Seungcheol more to himself as he angrily grabs his keys on the countertop, grazing the surface on purpose probably to irk Jeonghan. “See you in a week."  
  
No one asks Jeonghan what’s wrong when he storms into the headquarters, situated at the top floor of an otherwise normal but sleek office building in the heart of Gangnam. Internal gossip travels especially quickly in a tight-knit community like theirs, not to mention that they’re all professionally trained secret agents, and it really doesn’t take a prodigy to figure out Jeonghan’s marriage has been meeting more than one bump along the road. This phenomenon serves well at times like this, when Jeonghan would much rather be left alone than be consoled or met with curious, concerned glances.  
  
His phone lights up, reminding him of his fourth wedding anniversary next week and Seungcheol’s arrival from his business trip in Tokyo. In a matter of seconds he feels all the anger drained out of his system, the tides of rage receding to make way for undulations of sadness and utter loneliness that’s been kept at bay as his missions monopolised the forefront of his mind. Jeonghan turns his phone off, retreats to a corner of his office and curls up, letting the sobs wrack through his body and wishing the vulnerable shaking of his shoulders can be steadied by the only pair of arms he knows, memorises, wants. But it’s falling apart, everything, and while none of it is completely his fault Jeonghan can’t spare himself from blame.  
  
They bicker, they get into fights, they stay away from the house for days at a time, but what still scares Jeonghan the most is the possibility of Seungcheol growing to hate him. Waning affections he can understand, fading love seems a feasible feat, but to hate is to reject everything about what they have together so thoroughly that it inevitably ends in complete dissociation. The mere possibility of this is enough to pull out another burst of sobs out of Jeonghan.  
  
He emerges from his office with a steady voice, commanding all surveillance on operation A934 to be reviewed and sent to their boss. Every agent in the room voices their assent, pretending not to notice his puffy eyes and the downturned corners of his mouth.

 

*

 

There’s someone else on the mission.

Not an ally, but someone else who has no business interfering with Jeonghan’s target and had somehow managed to escape the barrage of bullets Jeonghan had sent his way after his — their — target had sidestepped the intricate booby trap Jeonghan constructed. Not only that, but the meddler had the audacity to fire a mid-range rocket at Jeonghan’s makeshift base to throw him off-kilter.  
  
The presence of another assassin on the job, logically, should have allowed more efficiency of the target’s murder, but the idiot incited a war by completely foiling Jeonghan’s immaculate trap and now Jeonghan’s not sure who he wants to kill more, his target or this newfound rival.  
  
“Shit,” he breathes into the intercom. “Shua, I’m going to kill that fucker. We better track down whoever’s after 341, make sure he’s my kill."  
  
“…Are you sure you want me to start tracking them down? You should probably head back as soon as possible and get your wounds patched up first,” comes Jisoo’s reply, always the careful man of unsullied logic.  
  
“Of course. No way am I having this mission get botched by some no-hoper who can’t even shoot straight. Don’t worry about me, my injuries are fine."  
  
Jisoo, as he likes to be called when he’s off-duty from being Agent Shua, laughs good-naturedly in reply, as if he hasn’t just had a revenge plot dumped onto his lap, but Jeonghan can’t bring himself to do the same.  
  
“By the way, your husband called.” To Seungcheol, Jisoo is Jeonghan’s right-hand man, his most trusted secretary and best friend. "He’s landing in Seoul tomorrow and wants to know when dinner will be."  
  
Jeonghan sighs. “Tell him dinner’s at seven.”

 

  
*

 

In a miraculous turn of events, their anniversary dinner goes by uneventfully. Well, uneventfully enough for Seungcheol to let himself get slightly drunk on wine and become more affectionate than usual; nuzzling Jeonghan’s neck, nipping at his jaw, even nibbling on his earlobe as they settle down on the couch for their usual post-meal TV show.  
  
Tonight, however, Seungcheol is clearly uninterested in Hello Counsellor and much more intent on making Jeonghan whimper under his ministrations. In less than five minutes Jeonghan finds himself pressed between their soft bed and his husband’s hard, firm body hovering over him. As Seungcheol leaves a trail of kisses down his neck, Jeonghan feels about ready to cry because _God_ does he miss this, miss being touched like he means the world and teased so thoroughly that he’s ready to come apart under Seungcheol’s hands in mere minutes.  
  
When Jeonghan pushes Seungcheol down on the bed to ride him, he grips Seungcheol’s thigh for leverage and is met with a loud groan — clearly of pain and not pleasure, even though Jeonghan doesn’t think he’s gripping particularly hard. Seungcheol has no doubt dealt with more. Confused, Jeonghan glances down and sees an ugly bruise, black and blue, around a mesh of deep scars on the side of Seungcheol’s thigh.  
  
“Holy shit, Seungcheol, how did you get that?”  
  
“That? Oh,” Seungcheol pants, and replies in one breath, “The office was in a rush and I ran into the corner of a table."  
  
“No table can do this kind of damage, you idiot, it looks like someone's punctured your —“ Jeonghan freezes. “When,” he asks slowly. “Did you hurt yourself?"  
  
“I don’t know, sometime last week while I was in Tokyo. Now can we get back to this, please,” he accentuates with a thrust upwards that presses against Jeonghan’s sweet spot, but even that isn’t enough to stop Jeonghan’s blood from turning cold and his hair to stand up on ends.  
  
Jeonghan isn’t stupid, and he knows Seungcheol isn’t either. That’s probably why Seungcheol doesn’t say anything when Jeonghan resumes their rhythm in an obviously half-hearted manner, lifting himself up and dropping down like clockwork. When they reach their climax, it doesn’t feel like a high at all because Jeonghan is tormented by the feeling of his heart sinking lower and lower until it disappears, and he’s left feeling numb with the empty space on the bed between him and Seungcheol shouting danger like dozens of emergency alarms.

 

*

 

Jeonghan needs to make sure.  
  
Once the last threads of twilight has vacated the space between the blinds, Jeonghan makes his way to the kitchen where, sure enough, Seungcheol is poring over some paperwork at the island. He eyes the way Seungcheol discreetly shuffles some sheets around as he approaches him. It’s a given that such a high-paying job would entail a certain degree of secrecy, whether it be his own or his clients’, but Jeonghan can’t help but think the kind of secrets Seungcheol is hiding is more than insider stock market information.  
  
“Thirsty?” Jeonghan asks, though he doesn’t wait for a reply before getting up to pull a bottle of wine from their cupboard. Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Special night?"  
  
“Do we have to have an occasion to drink some wine?”Jeonghan’s expression is placating but his tone is as sharp as knives. And as if sensing danger, Seungcheol remains quiet as Jeonghan pours both of them half a glass of wine.  
  
He smiles. And slackens his grip on the bottle to let it fall —    
  
only for Seungcheol’s hand to shoot out and catch it. Unblinkingly, as if on instinct.  
  
Seungcheol seems to realise what he’s done as their eyes meet. When he does he lets the bottle continue its fall to the ground where the wine starts to stain the white carpet badly — but it’s too late. The look they share explains everything.

Now they both know.  
  
And for all Seungcheol’s pride in his shrewdness, Jeonghan is suprised things haven’t escalated to this earlier.  
  
Everything Jeonghan’s ever been taught seizes hold of him as he flies off to the guest bathroom with a quick _‘I’ll get a towel’_ , only to slip his pocket gun into his coat. Seungcheol might be astute, but he really isn’t one for subtlety as Jeonghan hears the all-too familiar metallic clink of a gun. He tiptoes back towards the kitchen on shaky legs, overwhelmed by his discovery that he doesn’t notice the edge of the carpet and stumbles over it with a firm _thud_.

“Honey?” Seungcheol calls out, but by then Jeonghan’s already nimbly slipping out of the back door of the kitchen. In moments, he’s screeching away in his Mercedes, curving along the driveway before speeding into the night.  
  
For the first time Jeonghan curses his decision to live in a suburban fenced-off neighbourhood; the houses are clustered together and the roads run along like grids, orderly enough for him to be able to spot Seungcheol's form hacking away at hedges, crashing through fences in an attempt to cut across Jeonghan's path, hot in pursuit.  
  
Just as Jeonghan thinks he’s lost Seungcheol after turning a corner, a bullet shatters the passenger seat's window and only skims by the top of Jeonghan's head after he’s ducked down, almost hitting his head on the steering wheel. A second too late and he would have had a bullet embedded in his temple.  
  
Feeling anger and indignation bubble up into one ugly concoction, Jeonghan lifts his head and stares in shock at Seungcheol, who’s stuck in a bush with an arm stretched out, looking ridiculously akin to a deer caught in headlights.  
  
“So we’re not even going to talk this out?” Jeonghan shouts, laughing incredulously.  
  
“That was an accident. An accident,” Seungcheol says slowly, approaching the car like he would an injured animal. “Look, we do need to talk — I didn’t know it was you that day —"

But Jeonghan’s fury means his capacity to tolerate bullshit is down to the bare minimum. Before hesitation takes over, he slams down on the gas pedal and barrels towards Seungcheol at full-speed. Seungcheol’s quick reaction means he’s saved the several potentially broken bones and ends up somersaulting over the car, like Jeonghan knows he would. (Though at this stage it’s best that he stops caring about his husband’s survival — especially when he can turn against Jeonghan without a second thought.)

 

*

   
When Jeonghan reaches the headquarters he slams the door to his private room open and the ruckus summons Jisoo out of his surveillance room.  
  
“Jeonghan?” he asks cautiously. “Anything you want to talk about?"  
  
“Not really,” he replies coolly. “Anything _you_ want to talk about?"  
  
Jisoo smiles, the usual upturn of his lips despondent this time. “I found out who the agent on our double booked sortie is."  
  
It hits him, then, that everything is real. There’s no reason to pretend it’s a trick, a lie, a mistake, or even the outcome of months of marriage tension.  
  
“So did I, Shua,” Jeonghan sighs. “So did I."  
  
“So it’s on now?"  
  
Jeonghan knows how assassination works. For all he knows, Seungcheol’s main target has probably shifted from 341 to Jeonghan, their marriage be damned. It would be foolish of him to concede to defeat so quickly.  
  
“Seems so."

*

 

Chasing someone who knows you like the back of their own hand proves to be a near impossible task.

Or so it seems until an unbelievable stroke of luck hits Jeonghan, who catches Seungcheol in the middle of an infiltration attempt at his own headquarters after spending days trying to suss out his location. Jeonghan had abandoned his tracking meeting with Jisoo as soon as he heard the news, and now that he’s standing in front of the CCTV screen feeding into one of the service elevators of the building where Seungcheol is currently trapped, it's hard to clamp down on the triumphant satisfaction crawling up his insides.

“Comfy there, isn’t it?" sneers Jeonghan. “A little tip for you, darling: try not to take the path designed for convenience or efficiency."

“Huh. Now _that’s_ a philosophy I don’t see in bed.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at the screen. “It was a tip on subterfuge, not sex you insatiable beast.”

“Still doesn’t explain the lack of adventure lately.” Now Seungcheol is just taking the piss out of Jeonghan right in front of his agents. “Care to explain?”

“Continue talking shit and I swear I’ll cut the wire holding you up."

“Try it.”

Something in Seungcheol’s tone and shit-eating grin that’s evident even through the static noise of their connection strikes a chord in Jeonghan. “You think I won’t do it?”

Seungcheol extends his arms as if in defeat, but the smirk on his face says otherwise. “I think you _can’t_."

“And why is that?"

"I know your weakness.” He points a thumb at himself. “Me."

If Seungcheol wasn’t simply a figure on a pixelated screen, Jeonghan would have definitely socked him for it. He snorts derisively. “Let’s not get our egos up in the cloud, Choi."

“Oh, so we’re on a last-name basis now?"

The question actually stings, a stark reminder that their marriage — once founded on mutual love, adoration and respect — has been reduced to a cat-and-mouse chase with murder on the line.

Years of putting up with similarly cheesy bullshit hasn't made Jeonghan any more immune to it because he still exasperatedly rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Choi Seungcheol."

Suddenly the connection cuts off.

Jeonghan starts, grabbing the now dark screen. “Seungcheol? Seungcheol, can you hear me?"

He whips around to where Jihoon, the agency’s star spy on a two-week break, is leaning back on his chair with a vacant, almost bored look in his eyes, his face half-hidden behind the bag of chips he’s cradling.

“What did you just do?” he demands, voice rising in pitch.

Jihoon blinks at him. “Well, you said _goodbye_. So I cut off the elevator wire."

“ _Shit._ ” Jeonghan dashes out of the room trembling, suffocated in a haze of panic — he probably shouldn’t have made his distress so obvious to Jihoon but right now he can barely make his way through the corridors to Jisoo’s room, let alone think about the consequences of his actions as he barges in and heaves out, “I need to check every CCTV in the building. _Now_."

There’s no logical reasoning behind the relief he feels when the basement camera catches a figure slipping out of the building, attire torn in places but otherwise unharmed, and Jeonghan is terrified of finding out what that might mean.

 

*

 

An agent’s mission must trump everything else on their priority list, sometimes even their own lives.

This is the one integral rule Jeonghan makes sure he abides by. Whenever he feels intimidated by a seminal mission, for instance, he convinces himself that courage is something attainable with the passing of time. When the moment calls for it there will be no hesitation left in his system, flushed out by the pressing danger and the adrenaline of successfully pocketing several tens of thousand of dollars in prize money.

But whether it’s his body or mind at fault, things are only taking a turn for the worse when Jeonghan very nearly blows up an entire casino, having set off his bomb two seconds too late due to indecision thus allowing Seungcheol yet another escape in a black limo he nicked off the curb. Damn his spinelessness.

“That’s the second time you tried to kill me.” Jeonghan feels more than hears the anger in Seungcheol’s voice, and he revels in this little mark of victory.

“What, can’t handle a little grenade? Thought you were better trained than this, Choi Seungcheol."

“What are you after me for? Shouldn’t you be chasing that little crack dealer — what do you guys call him, 341 or something?"

“The ‘little crack dealer’ can wait when I’ve got a much bigger problem on my hands,” Jeonghan murmurs low into the microphone as he swiftly cruises along the relatively empty roads. “Clearly neither of us are getting that bounty until one takes care of the other. And you’re not co-operating very well at the moment."

There’s a pause, and a static noise of breathing on the phone, like Seungcheol is letting out a laboured sigh. “Jeonghan. What did you think of… when you first saw me?"

Thrown off by the question, Jeonghan grips the steering wheel tighter as he feels his chest constrict. “Why are you asking me this right now?” he grits out.

“I guess… I guess at the end of it, you can’t help but think about the beginning.” Seungcheol’s laugh sounds sad over the line. “When I first saw you — I felt like I was at home. And I had to say something, because I thought I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t.”

It’s such a simple, honest thing to say, so quintessentially Seungcheol — the Seungcheol Jeonghan is familiar with. The Seungcheol who sleeps shirtless one night and swaddled in the most ridiculous pyjamas the next; the Seungcheol who mindlessly seeks out his hand in the middle of the streets, entwining their fingers like it’s second nature; the Seungcheol who makes coffee in the morning to help him wake up and tea at night to help him sleep. At that very moment, Jeonghan hates Seungcheol for making him remember who he used to be — what _they_ used to be.

Biting his lip until the pressure behind his eyes recede, he hears Seungcheol say softly, “What about you, Han?" 

“I thought —“ _I thought you were perfect. I thought you were more than just a pretty face. I thought you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, and I loved you for making me forget about protocols._

A million and one variations run through his head, but Jeonghan has to remind himself that this is exactly what Seungcheol is trying to do — tease out his weakness, wrap him around his little finger before crushing him, body and heart. It’s so easy for Seungcheol to see through him; on so many occasions, Seungcheol seems on the brink of reading his mind and answering his unspoken questions that now Jeonghan knows the only way he can save himself is by barricading his feelings in with taller, sturdier walls.

“I thought you were the hottest target I’ve ever been assigned to."

The chuckle Jeonghan hears is low and devoid of emotion, a complete turn from the wistful and nostalgic tone only a few minutes before and it chills him to the bone. “Target, huh? So it was all business?"

“All business, baby,” croaks Jeonghan, though unconvincing even to his own ears. “Cold, hard cash."

Jeonghan feels something in the air shift. He imagines Seungcheol in his own car straightening up, fixing his earphones and regaining his focus on the road — it’s unfair, when Jeonghan feels about ready to lose his composure as his vision begins to blur.

“Good. We’re on the same page now,” Seungcheol’s voice is steely. "See you at home in five."

 

*

 

Despite Seungcheol's attempt to sneak in through the window of their billiard room, Jeonghan manages to cop him out easily.

In other situations Jeonghan would have patted himself on the back for being one astute cookie, but it’s a little hard to do when he’s preoccupied with escaping from the rain of bullets from Seungcheol’s revolver, to which he retaliates by sending half a dozen shots from the two machine guns slung across his chest. But Seungcheol’s taken cover behind the jut of a hallway wall, and Jeonghan takes this opportunity to bolt inside the kitchen as he abandons his machine guns for a sleek but wicked revolver. He ducks, narrowly missing the bullets embedding themselves into their wallpapered walls, and feeling Seungcheol hot on his trails, he pushes the glass cabinet beside him down to block the doorway. 

Seungcheol slips inside just before the cabinet comes crashing down and he catches Jeonghan by surprise, trapping him in a headlock tight enough to disorient and make him gasp for breath. Jeonghan elbows Seungcheol’s chest and tries to send a kick to his shin — but he misses, and Seungcheol manages to knock the gun out of his hand before Jeonghan successfully lands a solid kick to loosen the grips on his wrists.

They grapple with each other, Jeonghan’s fingers tugging hard enough to hurt and Seungcheol’s grip tight on his collar. Seungcheol slams Jeonghan back on the wall so forcefully that Jeonghan feels all the air knocked out of him and involuntarily lets out a loud groan — but when Seungcheol steps back to repeat the action Jeonghan tangles their legs together and they come crashing down in a messy heap. Jeonghan bites at Seungcheol’s neck and his whole body jerks at the pain, sending his gun clattering across the floor.

In a matter of seconds they’re pushing each other away to dive towards their weapons, uncaring of the broken shards of glass and splinters of wood on the floor. Jeonghan reaches out a bloody palm to grab his gun and swings around to face Seungcheol, who’s in a similar position already. Clicks resound as they reload their weapons, and then silence ensues.

They hold each other at gunpoint, the isolated noise of heaving breaths doing nothing to mollify their piercing gazes. Though it only lasts minutes, it feels like hours to Jeonghan, who by design is used to zoning in on the target and taking the shot. He shouldn’t feel this overwrought because Seungcheol is a target now, but it’s an entirely alien feeling when Jeonghan can’t forget the fact that it’s also his husband he’s about to kill.

The air grows stagnant with tension and Jeonghan thinks he’s going to die like this, asphyxiated by the frozen time and his lover’s fiery gaze, full of conviction and determination and murderous intent —

“Can’t do it,” Seungcheol finally breathes out, lowering his gun. “Can’t do it,” he repeats a little louder for Jeonghan to hear — and when Jeonghan does his eyes widen in anger and frustration. He grips his weapon tighter, cocking the barrel right at Seungcheol’s face.

“Don’t you _fucking_ give up now,” hisses Jeonghan through gritted teeth. This wasn’t the plan. One of them has to die, and the only way for that to happen is to fight to the death. Choi Seungcheol giving up isn’t in the books, shouldn’t be. His hand begins to shake, knuckles white with skin stretched over bones. “It was all business to you too, wasn’t it? So don’t you fucking dare —"

“You want to complete your mission? Then do it.”

There’s a clatter as Seungcheol’s gun drops to the floor, his hands now raised beside his head in surrender. His expression is a perfect mask of tranquil conviction — so different to the way Jeonghan is quaking in his shoes, stance unsteady as he forces his arm to stay upright and his finger to lie on the trigger just close enough to the snapping point.

“You _fucking coward —"_

“Get it over with Jeonghan!” roars Seungcheol, the vein on his neck protruding with anger.

Seized by emotions, Jeonghan can’t stop himself from letting out a whimper as he lets his finger rest on the trigger.

There’s a shot.

 

*

 

Seungcheol opens his eyes in confusion when the searing pain he’s braced himself for doesn’t come. Instead he sees Jeonghan glaring back, tears falling helplessly down his cheeks and lips quivering.

“You really think I could do it?” he whispers, and Seungcheol doesn’t hold back.

They meet in the middle, Seungcheol knocking the gun out of Jeonghan’s hand as Jeonghan drags him in by the shirt, surging forwards into the kiss that carries hints of sweat and the metallic taste of blood. In his desperation, Jeonghan starts clawing at Seungcheol’s hair, wrapping one leg around him and attempting to grind their hips together until Seungcheol decides it best to lift him up by his thighs, slamming Jeonghan against the wall yet again, but this time for a completely different purpose. His fingers are working frantically on Jeonghan’s buttons and he pushes his dress shirt out of the way — soon his fingers are in a million places at once, on Jeonghan’s sides, stroking the legs interlocked behind him, his lean but hard chest.

“It’ll be okay,” Seungcheol breathes out as he kisses down Jeonghan’s throat, his husband moaning in a mixture of pain and pleasure underneath him. “I’ll make it okay."

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” gasps out Jeonghan. “If we stay together, we’ve got nowhere to go. We’ll — we’ll always be in danger."

“That’s nothing new,” chuckles Seungcheol, finally peeling himself away from Jeonghan far enough to look into his eyes. “Figured that was the case when I proposed."

“You knew?” asks Jeonghan, bewildered.

“Of course not. But I was a professional assassin who worked in the shadows, and you made me want to come out into the light just to spend my days with you. So you were dangerous, but I fell in love anyway."

The happiness in their chests bubble up, breaking to the surface as laughter. They laugh until they run out of breath, finally settling on tiny kisses and slow movement of the hips.

“I’m in love with you too, Choi Seungcheol,” Jeonghan breathes out. Seungcheol smiles.

“Good, because we’ll be stuck together for a while now.”  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand in the spirit of OG Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Seungcheol and Jeonghan probably escape to some small town in Italy and adopt a child who eventually inherits their superior killing instincts - but that is a story for another time.


End file.
